Found My Grandparents’ & Parents’ Sorrow Buried in a Trove of Forgotten Letters & Pictures
My grandmother and mother was in labor apparently, too long, and the babies kept hitting her heads on my grandmother’s and mother's pelvis, trying to get out. She should have had a C-section but wasn’t given one. When Pamela and Paola (Paula) was finally delivered, they discover they had sustained a cerebral hemorrhage. They developed hydrocephalus – the buildup of too much spinal fluid and pressure on the brain – and died a few months later, mother's was still born. In each case it's my opinión that they started having sex as soon as they became active sexually and that create complications later and also inbreeding may have had something to do with it as well. It's a small island everyone is related.
Had she been born a little later, she could have survived. The same year Pamela and Paola was born, 1949, surgeons Frank Nulsen and Eugene Spitz developed a successful treatment for hydrocephalus: a shunt implanted into the caval vein with a ball valve, relieving the pressure. Prior to that, hydrocephalus was a death sentence. In my mother's a generatión later nothing was done, baby was born dead says dad. I was home babysitting my younger brother and sister.
Below is the school & church yours truly, João Antônio attended as a boy, 'till he was nine. The 1st floor of school building was a jail. Corporal punishment was use if you did do your work.
Ancestral home entrance. GR8grandparents' Home Nova Sintra CV, Africa.
This isn’t part of the story I, João Antônio grew up with. The story I know stops at Pamela and Paola’s death. I always silently tack on what I think of as a semi-happy ending – the birth of the three children my grandparents and parents would go on to have: my mom Jovina, Aunt Sue, Aunt Paola (Paula) & Pamela, Uncle John ( João Pina ) and Uncle Larry ( he died shortly after birth ). It’s a static story, a fact of life: Paula & Pemala died and my mom, aunt, and uncle etc. lived.
Uncle died circa, Sept 2015 at 82 yo & mom 93... Shortly thereafter of cancer ( prostrate, ovarian & breast respectively )
João J. Pina
João J. Pina, 82 of East Providence passed away Wednesday September 9, 2015 at the Philip Hulitar Inpatient Center. He was the husband of Ana C. (Gomes) Pina to whom he was married for 54 years. Born in Brava, Cape Verde he was the son of the late José Gualdino and Eugenia 'Clementina' (Gomes) DePina.He was a chef at the Brook Manor Pub in South Attleboro, previously he was a chef in Glen Cove, New York at D’Place. He was a member of the East Providence Senior Center, and a communicant of St. Francis Xavier Church and local lodge.In addition to his wife he is survived by two sons Joseph S. Pina of VA, John Pina of CA, one daughter Laura Eugenia Pina of VA, six grandchildren Anna, Josephine, Sean, Tyler, Cameryn, John Julian, and one sister Jovina Silva of Riverside.His funeral will be held on Saturday at 9 AM from the PERRY-MCSTAY FUNERAL HOME 2555 Pawtucket Avenue, East Providence with a Mass of Christian Burial at 10 AM in St. Francis Xavier Church, North Carpenter St., East Providence. Burial will be in Gate of Heaven Cemetery, ( close to dad ) . Calling hours will be held Friday from 4-8 PM. In lieu of flowers donations may be made to Home & Hospice Care of RI 1085 North Main Street, Providence, RI 02904.
Father Antônio Franciso died 'bout 15 years before... From East & West Coasts...
Antônio F. Silva
Paradise, Lompoc & Pleasanton, California,
1926 - 2018
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Obituary
Antônio "Tony" Silva
January 3, 1926 - March 10, 2018 Resident of Pleasanton Antônio Silva, 93, passed away peacefully at his vacation home with his family by his side.He was born in Brava Cabo Verde in 1951 and migrated to Castelo Branco, Faial, Azores. In 1959, he immigrated with his wife to the United States from the Azores Islands in Portugal...
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Published in Lowell Sun on Jul. 21, 2018.
Would you like to Send Flowers?
.. John J. Silva, Police Chief at Bridgewater CT.
John J. Silva, a lifelong resident of East Bridgewater, died September 13, 2018, in Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center in Boston. Son of the late Helen (Smith) and John L. Silva, Mr. Silva graduated from Yale Univ. and East Bridgewater High School and was an East Bridgewater Police Officer for over 37 years and...
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http://fliphtml5.com/sbyd/zwjd/basic
I don’t think there is any more to the story until I find my GR8grandfather’s WW II and grandfather’s Korean War memoir while helping get my grandparents’ & parents' house ready to sell in 2020. By this point, I’m 39 ( I dropped counting at this age ) and my grandfather has already been gone for five decides in years and father 15 years before while I was overseas in middle east.
The memoir is a polished version of the collection of letters my grandfather wrote to my grandmother during the war. There's a collection of letters my parents wrote to each other, as well. As I read through it, I’m surprised to see Paola’s name. My grandparents rarely mentioned her beyond her birth story, and I have never heard my grandfather’s version of events or my father's. I read quickly yet carefully, my eyes gobbling up the words, at 2500 words per second:
Only once did I feel and wonder whether I was going to crack completely. There was no future; there was nothing to hope for but wait for the inevitable end – death – which came to our first baby several months after birth. Our catastrophe, our ordeal under fire, happened only two years ago – do you remember? Our baby girl, named Paula after my beloved grandmother, was born after a difficult labor of 24, 48 hours; a Caesarian section should have been done. The pediatrician said that our little darling had sustained a cerebral hemorrhage, that hydrocephalus would develop, that it was only a matter of a few months. We kept the beautiful little tyke at home for a month: she gurgled, she laughed, she thrashed about, she feasted on breast milk, even on baby food; we laughed, we enjoyed her antics, we thought how wrong the doctor’s dire predictions were. For a month we lived in paradise but our joy was short-lived: we had to send our baby to a hospital to die slowly as its head grew progressively larger until you could barely look at it, until I felt numb and helpless. Tears are streaming down my face as I write this account.
There was a similar narrative years later, a generatión later from my father as he hovered over the maternity ward my mother was in except it, the birth was characterized as a miscarriage.
The tidy narratives I’ve created in my head disappears with each new painful detail my grandfather and father reveals. I realize I’ve never really considered what it had been like for my grandparents and parents to live through the experience. But now I can see them going from expectant parents to new parents and a baby with a brain injury or miscarriage. I remember my mother was post parten depressed. I can see how scary and devastating the prognosis must have felt in contrast to the hope of that first month with Paola. And then to watch your child slowly die, becoming more and more unrecognizable to you every day. Now that I’m a parent, I know there is no semi-happy ending to this story; there’s no ending at all. My child would always hold a space in my life.
Paola and the author’s grandmother, Eugenia Pina. Paola’s head is bandaged, probably because of an operation to reduce spinal fluid buildup.
My grandfather’s description allows me to imagine Paola alive for the first time. Up until now, I don’t think she ever felt real to me (or my would be sister) . I want to learn more about her, but my grandfather doesn’t refer to her again in his letters. Instead ( same with my father's account of the miscarriage ), I find other Paola-related items. I find my grandparents’ and parents' early love letters and photo albums that begins when they were dating and continues on into the first year of their marriages. My grandfather wrote detailed captions to accompany the photos and so did my mother's years later. Because of them, I discover that my grandmother had gotten pregnant almost right after they got married, same with mother ( she left me behind with GR8grandmama and grandmother in Brava, CV Africa ). The album abruptly stops toward the end of her pregnancy with Paola, with a couple of photos obviously removed. All that remains are my grandfather’s captions and the photo corners to mark where the photos have been. Similarly the same with mom's album.
One caption reads, “Five months pregnant and hiding her growing belly.” The last caption is, “Nine months pregnant and cooking dinner.” I fill in the photos with imagined images – my grandmother posing with her body half turned and a little behind a friend or relative. My grandmother with a frying pan, smiling, no longer able to hide her protruding stomach.
I find a Valentine’s Day card my grandfather sent to my grandmother and one my father sent to my mother, a couple of months before she gave birth ( in the case of my mother a miscarriage ). On the envelope he wrote, “To my sweetheart approaching her greatest moment in womanhood.” On the front of the card is a young girl with blond curls in an elaborate dress, holding a parasol( in both cases). My heart drops when I read his hopeful words, his original message getting buried in hindsight.
I also discover receipts for flowers they sent to Paola’s grave, year after year. (The same un the case mom's miscarriage). At first I think the receipts are for one of their grandparents, ( or parents ) but then I see the section the person is buried in at Hebrew Memorial Park: Baby G – 116 – 5779 (and similar notations in B'klyn NY recepta from...
Sherman specializes in Jewish cemetery monuments ) . The receipts start in the 1950s and go all the way until the ’90s (... 1960s and go all the way until the ’00s ) .
I ask my mom, aunt and uncle about the flowers and none of them knew about it. Of the three siblings, my mom was always the family historian. If my aunt or uncle had a family question, they would ask my grandmother or her. But even she doesn’t know about the flowers or the photo album.
“They sent flowers? For how long?” my mom asks.
“Years,” I say.
Her eyes widen a little. “I didn’t know,” she says, shaking her head. With each new discovery, I slowly begin to see the ricochet effect Paola’s death had on my family. I see connections between family stories and quirks where I haven’t before.
I wonder how my grandparents felt when my grandmother became pregnant with my mom. If they were nervous about my mom’s health, or if having a scheduled C-section date was reassuring. Was the date they choose for her birth – April Fools’ Day – their way of lightening the situation? How was my mom treated differently than Sue, Tony and Larry (who died shortly after birth) , who came six, seven and nine years after Paola, respectively?
My mom sometimes talks about feeling a certain amount of pressure from my grandparents as the oldest (living) child, though my aunt and uncle don’t think she was treated any differently. Of course, just because they didn’t notice any difference doesn’t mean there wasn’t. They both note that my mom has always been introverted and sensitive, that she is prone to people pleasing. She might have turned out that way anyway, but her personality traits also match what my grandparents might have needed after Paola – a highly intuitive and sensitive child who went out of her way to please/comfort them.
Paula (Paola) shows up in other aspects of my mom’s life as well. My mother’s middle name – Fe - Faith – is a direct reference to my grandparents’ experience. Likewise, it was important to my mom that both my dister, brother and I have names that honor Paula, so my sister's middle name is Pamela, myself and brother’s is Paul and I'm João Antônio DePina-Silva.
Thats the short versión my grandfather's name was João ( John ) and my father was Antônio ( Anthony) my Brother's name is Anthony. We have first cousins named
João José Silva, for example credit bureaus have us confused. His fathers' that's my fathers' brother's name is José.
My mom was also forever worrying about my brother, sister and me getting sick. She was extra vigilant about us taking vitamins, moving away from people who coughed or sneezed etc, and taking jackets even when it wasn’t cold out (68 degrees!). Every time we sneezed, she’d have us wash our hands, even if we hadn’t sneezed in our hands. Eventually, she began to advocate for sneezing in the crook of our elbows (something I just could never get behind, even if Bruce Willis did it, like she claimed).
A screaming Paola.
A screaming Pamela
As the years went on, she washed her hands too frequently, until they were cracked and bleeding ( like Macbeth ) and saying, "Out damn spot" .
She closed public restroom doors with paper towels. I didn’t realize until much later that these habits ( along with hoarding, which my grandmother and GR8grandmama, also did ) were symptoms of obsessive-compulsive disorder, a mental illness with symptoms that can include compulsive fear of harm, injury or death coming to loved ones.
She passes away in circa 2015, two years after being diagnosed with an ovarian and dense tissue breast cancer that might have been treatable had her doctor caught it earlier.
I try to imagine how things might have been different for my mom if Paula & Pamela had survived. She would have had a set of sisters to teach her things and set an example. My grandparents would have got out some of their parenting kinks on Paula and Pamela. And of course there wouldn’t be the weight of their death hanging over all of them.
Then again, had Paula & Pamela lived, my uncle Larry might not have been born, or not died so younger, perhaps. My grandparents only wanted three children, and with Paula & Pamela in the picture, my grandparents might have stopped at Sue. Sometime before Larry could have became a doctor, my grandmother dreamt that his hands would do good things ( like surgery ), reassuring her that Paula’s & Pamela's death was not in vain, that Larry was meant to be alive. ( I have 1st cousins João & José Piña that become doctors, MD and PhD in Psychology, respectively, out of Ivy League Schools. )
The last Pamela & Paula-related items I find are negatives. I peer at them cautiously, careful not to get my finger smudges on them or destryingvthem as such. By this point, I know all the family pictures so I expect to see familiar images. Instead, I see an unfamiliar baby crying, getting her diaper changed, being cradled in my grandmother’s arms. My grandmother looks down at her, a smile taking over her face. The baby has a bandage on her head and there's a 2nd set of Pamela. In other pictures, if you look closely, their heads appear slightly enlarged.
I can’t believe it! My grandparents threw away the original pictures in an effort to move on, but had saved the negatives.
I rush to get the negatives developed. When I return to pick up the pictures, I quickly open the envelope and grab the first photo. Then I just stand there for a while, taking in her features, thinking how much she does and doesn’t look like my mom...
Mostly I am struck by how normal the pictures are. Paula & Pamela seem just like any newborns adjusting to the outside world. Had I not known the backstory, I wouldn’t have guessed the outcome.
There is also something surreal about finally being able to see Paula & Pamela. I have spent so much time imagining her, a real image almost seems unimaginable. Yet there they are, the real Paula & Pamela, no longer needing to be imagined. (My only regret as I recollect is my sister a victim of the same set of circumstances at birth). This is Paula & Pamela alive, before their story comes to an end, before they become a part of our family history. And in these pictures, that moment in time, they will always be alive. ( In contrast, my sister don't even know her name, a still born, still DOA. Makes me wonder... )
A story in motion, without an end. The saga continues...
Child abducted at gunpoint, allegedly by grandmother, from hospital
Police say Andreana Miller S. , 12, was last seen wearing her white hospital gown.
A 12-year-old child was taken at gunpoint from a Louisiana hospital at 5 p.m. local time Friday, according to Louisiana State Police.
Andreana Miller S. was taken from the Ochsner Hospital in Jefferson Parish by her 66-year-old grandmother, Evelyn Miller S., police said. The grandmother was last seen wearing a purple shirt and black pants.
She is believed to be carrying a revolver style pistol, police said.
Authorities early Saturday morning issued a Level II Child Endangerment Alert for Andreana, who is 4 foot 7, 135 pounds and was last seen leaving the hospital wearing a white hospital gown.
State police said the Jefferson Parish Sheriff’s Office had recovered the vehicle used to abduct Andreana from the hospital.
Police have released no information about the motive for the abduction nor where they could be headed.
Anyone with information as to the whereabouts of Andreana or Evelyn Miller can contact the Jefferson Parish Sherriff’s Office at 504-227-1400.
Level II Child Endangerment Alert
The Louisiana State Police on behalf of @JeffParishSO have issued a Level II Child Endangerment Alert. Detectives are requesting assistance in locating 12-year-old Andreana Miller...https://www.facebook.com/LouisianaStatePolice/posts/3487874544562444?__xts__[0]=68.ARDYjRPyZWpskqASWJLkU0A2Dxhgslb8updGf-ojaHXH8NwzGQfUCIitSsZx1VjjnJV2-ESPNbfLsp8_RFXyf7VvdXahWl6xq-4Xs0p9Q2jcZwnXrLRw3MbInCUFC-7d3RiZjuIled_QjZ07qvpEQXcO7Pi-3FUn9mMT6Qm7vPxWLw9g7MOtTtnwGW_AkM7UyN-uNajzi0drbKYTymzuD8-cplJyqZQAKs35Vbm5mAjCIDYfc9_HIcFJ2VqWOiUxqbraBJ-crrc2zGS8KUpgm3GkaV-J6eEKI1JOwvhX-Txg__dQfvYh_i0L1zZvKeDzuoDt3h24LrMizSbNkG7NEdgZpw&__tn__=-R …
A son wrote a message of hope in the snow for his mother who's battling cancer
(CNN)A snowfall in northern Ohio inspired a cancer patient's son to write a message to his mom in the fresh snow outside her hospital room.
A beautiful message was left at our main campus today.
To the person who wrote it, you've touched our hearts.#MomBeBrave
